


O Brother, Where Art Thou?

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to Season 9, Episode 23 "Do You Believe In Miracles?" Dean is alive but he is not the same. Sam finds out the hard way just how much his brother has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Hannah looked questioningly at Castiel; still deferring to him for leadership.

"What do we do now?" she asked, eyeing Metratron locked safely in his cell.

Castiel thought for a long moment before answering.

"We open up the gates to Heaven," he told her, "Allow the souls that have been trapped, to enter."

Hannah nodded.

"And our brothers and sisters," Castiel instructed, "All who wish to come back."

"What of those who don't?" Hannah asked. She knew that many of her siblings, fearing that they would never again set foot in Heaven, had decided to make the best of their situation and live peacefully among the humans on Earth.

"That is their decision, Hannah," Castiel said, "No one will be forced to return."

The female angel opened her mouth as though to argue with Castiel but she closed it again when he turned his blue eyes on her.

"I trust you can organize things up here by yourself?" Castiel asked and Hannah nodded.

"I have business to attend to on Earth," Castiel said even though his sister had not asked him a question.

"The Winchesters," Hannah said, her tone bitter.

"Yes," he replied.

Dean was dead. Castiel did not think Metatron would lie about something like that, especially when the Scribe of God knew how much the angel cared for the human.

Castiel didn't know what he could do. He didn't have enough Grace left to bring Dean back but at least he could be there for Sam, to comfort him and perhaps together they could find a way to make the eldest Winchester live again.

Castiel began walking from the jail, pausing sadly at Gadreel's body. He was saddened by his brother's death. The angel had made mistakes in the past but he had paid for them, tenfold, in his lifetime of being locked away. Castiel wished Gadreel had had the chance to taste real freedom and to finally be exonerated for his long-ago crime.

Castiel turned to look at Hannah.

"Turn no one away."

SPN

Why wasn't Crowley answering? Where was he? Was he ever going to show up?

Sam sighed and sat back on his heels.

He didn't know why he'd thought the demon would give a shit about Dean. Sure, they had worked together a lot this past year but Crowley was still a demon who cared for nothing and no one but himself.

Exhausted and out of ideas, Sam stood and drew his foot across the pentagram, smudging the chalk and scattering the artifacts used for summoning across the room.

Sam had thought that he didn't need Dean as much as his brother claimed he did. He had promised himself, after finding out about Gadreel, that he would not try and bring Dean back if anything should happen to him- just like his brother always found a way to save him. Hell, he'd even told Dean that!

But now… with Dean really gone… Sam was realizing that he was wrong. He needed Dean just as much as Dean needed him. Sam might like to think that he could move on without his big brother but he was only fooling himself. He had been angry, had wanted to hurt his brother for betraying him, for doing something to him that absolutely terrified Sam- having an angel possess him- despite how it had helped.

Now, Dean was gone and the one person who had a chance of fixing it- because Sam had no idea where Cas was- was AWOL.

Sam left the room, feeling tears sting his eyes. He shouldn't be trying to summon some demon right now; he should be with his brother.

Sam knew he'd have to eventually take care of the body, bury or burn it, but for now he couldn't.

He felt horribly guilty for his actions, for the things he'd said throughout the year. Dean had only ever been trying to help him and although Sam didn't want him to, he had been out of line.

And then there was the First Blade. Sam didn't know what to think about that. It had been messing with Dean. It had been changing him, making his short fuse even shorter and at times Sam had been frightened that Dean would attack him. Sam wished he had tried harder to help Dean, to loosen the thing's hold on his brother. He should have taken that ugly piece of bone far away and hidden it away forever. No wonder Cain had thrown the damn thing into the ocean ages ago. It was bad, it was evil. It was Sauron's ring and it needed to be taken to Mount Doom before its corruption ran any deeper.

Sam paused at the end of the hallway and sighed, wiping his face.

He should have done more to protect his brother. Dean would have done that for him.

Sam stopped in the doorway to Dean's room and his mouth dropped open in shock.

Dean was not lying bloody and broken, pale as a sheet on his bed. He was sitting up, looking right at him.

Alive.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed and rushed into the room as though if he moved slowly the vision would vanish and his brother would still be dead.

Dean smiled, "Sammy."

Sam grabbed his brother in a tight hug. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't.

"What happened… How…" Sam stammered, reluctant to release his brother.

Dean chuckled, "Dunno. I just wok up like this. Guess they're not ready for me Upstairs."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, "I was so scared, Dean. I thought… I thought… you…"

"I'm here now, Sammy," Dean murmured, hugging him back just as tightly.

The younger man released his brother and looked at Dean. Sam saw that Dean was holding the First Blade and he frowned.

"We should get rid of that," he pointed, "We don't need it anymore."

Dean glanced down as though he had only just noticed he was holding the weapon and shrugged, "You're right. Not my style anyway."

Sam was a little bit stunned when Dean held the Blade out to him. He took the Blade and tucked it beneath his arm. Dean didn't say anything else. He didn't ask about Metatron or Cas.

"I could really use a drink, Sammy," Dean announced, standing up and stretching as though he'd just woken up from a nap.

Give him a moment, Sam thought, he's only just come back.

"Sure," Sam said and led the way down to the main room of the bunker.

The bottle of whisky Sam had been drinking from earlier still sat on one of the tables, the crystal glass beside it. Sam set the First Blade down and reached for the bottle.

Suddenly, he was thrown across the room, slamming into the far wall with bone-jarring force.

Sam collapsed, gasping in pain and struggled onto his hands and knees. Dean walked towards him slowly.

Sam looked up at his brother and his heart almost stopped. Dean's once hazel eyes were now pitch black.

"No… Dean… what's happened?" Sam stammered, standing shakily.

Dean smiled, "Seems the First Blade had one trick left in it. We knew Cain was a demon but didn't really think of the why. Sure, he killed his brother and that would have earned him a ticket Downstairs- probably did- but I think that the Blade didn't forget about that. So, when I died, it turned me into one too, just like its old master."

Sam shook his head; he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around Dean's words.

"That's what was happening to me, Sammy," Dean continued, "The anger… the violence… It was getting me ready for the moment when I'd die."

"No," Sam moaned, tears welling in his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"This isn't you, Dean," Sam begged, "You have to fight it! I know you can."

It was his brother's turn to shake his head, "I can't, Sam. I don't want to. This is me now."

Tears dripped unchecked down Sam's face. This couldn't be happening. This had to be some sort of nightmare.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, his tone fearful.

He wouldn't hurt me; Sam thought frantically, I'm his brother.

Dean smiled and his eyes turned their familiar hazel again.

"I'm a bit out of practice," he said, "I should sharpen my skills."

Still smiling in that oh-so-comforting way, the way he would smile if Sam were hurt or sick, the smile that told his younger brother that everything was going to be all right, Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the knife angel blade he always kept there.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, "No! Please! Don't do this!"

Dean advanced towards him.

"Please…" Sam shrank back and cried out when he was flung to the side, away from the wall.

Dean lifted a hand and Sam was lifted into the air to crash down onto one of the tables on his back.

Sam struggled to rise but he couldn't. He was pinned down.

"Please… Please… Dean…" Sam begged, "You can fight this. You don't have to do this. Please."

SPN

Crowley's mouth opened wide in shock as he watched the Winchesters.

What have you done? He thought as he watched Dean standing over his sibling with an angel blade.

Here was Dean Winchester- unsung hero to humans, terror of monsters everywhere- hurting the one person he'd never lay a finger on with the intent to do harm.

Crowley wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting when he'd place the First Blade in Dean's cold, still hand and demanded he awake but whatever it was… it sure as Hell wasn't this.

Sam's cries of pain were loud and they echoed off the stone walls of the bunker, seeming never to end.

Crowley wondered if he should step in; stop Dean from doing something he'd regret but then decided against it when he caught sight of the maniacal look in the man's eye.

On second thought, he'd remain invisible, undetectable and watch, glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of that blade.

SPN

Blood coated Dean's hands, hot and slick. Sam's cries of agony and begging were the only sounds in the room, egging him on.

Dean had forgotten how good this felt. To be the one who decides when the pain stops and starts.

Sam stared up at him, eyes streaming with tears, pleading with him in a voice already cracked, that this wasn't him. That he could fight. That they could find a way to fix him.

But Dean didn't want to fight. He didn't want to be fixed.

He wanted to see if he could make Sam scream.

SPN

Sam's chest heaved as though he couldn't get enough air. Tears flowed from his eyes, mixing with sweat and blood.

The pain was incredible. Hot and fiery, it seemed to consume, burn in every limb, every nerve ending. His body was urging to curl in protectively but he couldn't move, trapped flat-out on the table.

Dean grinned down at him as he lowered the angel blade and cut Sam again.

"Stop! Please!" Sam cried even though his words fell on deaf ears.

"Dean! Please!" Sam begged, shaking with fear and agony.

But Dean didn't stop. He continued smiling and cutting, cutting and smiling.

SPN

Dean raised the angel blade and looked down at his brother.

Sam's eyes were half-open, glazed and unfocused. His loud crying and begging had tapered off into moans and whimpers what seemed like hours ago and now he was silent.

But he wasn't dead. No, Dean had made sure that Sam wouldn't die until he was finished.

Dean dropped the blade and it clattered to the floor with a metallic chime.

"I think I'll have that drink now," he told Sam- not that his brother was in any condition to answer much less understand what he was saying- and moved casually to the table where the whisky was.

Grabbing the bottle with one bloodstained hand, Dean pried off the cap and drank deeply.

Lowering the bottle and giving an exaggerated sigh of pleasure. Dean glanced at his sibling once more.

Blood dripped sluggishly from the table onto the floor, creating a crimson pool. Sam lay spread eagle, silent and still though not quite dead. Dean could see his sibling's chest barely rise and fall, certain that any moment it would stop.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean called, "I needed that."

Turning, the eldest Winchester made his way towards that staircase that led outside, the neck of the whisky bottle held casually between red fingers.

SPN

The first thing Cas noticed upon entering the Men of Letters' bunker was the coppery scent of blood. So strong it nearly made the angel gag.

Cas walked cautiously down the stairs and peered warily into the room where Sam and Dean often did most of their research because it featured a half-dozen long oak tables, green glass bankers lamps and was the nexus of the bunker with hallways cut into its stone walls.

The angel's eyes widened in fear and shock at the sight of the younger Winchester laying on top of one of the oaken tables, quiet and unmoving.

Castiel crashed down the stairs and darted into the room, his heart pounding, afraid the young man was already dead.

He peered down at the young man, eyes growing large at the numerous cuts and gashes that riddled his friend's body, some still weeping blood.

"Sam! Sam! Can you hear me?" Castiel asked loudly, reaching out to brush the human's bangs away from his brow as he had seen Dean do a thousand times over the years.

Sam's eyes were at half-mast, glassy, seeing nothing, but he reacted to the angel's touch, gasping and letting out a quiet moan of fear.

"It is alright Sam," Castiel said softly, "It is only me."

The young man's opened slightly but the angel could see that he was still nowhere near comprehending what was happening.

Cas bit his lip- a very human gesture he had picked up- as he tried to decide what the best course of action would be. The best would be to take Sam to the nearest hospital but the angel didn't know how he could explain the young man's wounds.

Even though Castiel had seen the Winchesters take care of their own injuries- or each other's- he did not know enough about medicine to use anything in a First Aid kit to help Sam.

There was only one thing the angel could do though that he knew would work. Despite the Grace that was quickly dwindling inside of him, Castiel would use what was left of his energy to heal the young man.

"Do not be afraid," he murmured comfortingly to the human, "I am going to help you."

Cas laid a hand on Sam's brow, the skin beneath his hand slick with sweat and blood, feverish with heat.

The angel closed his eyes and focused the last of his energy on healing. He felt the power of the Grace flow through his fingers into the human, mending tissue and regenerating lost blood.

Castiel gasped and staggered back. He opened his eyes, feeling as weak as… well, a human, and looked at Sam. The angel frowned. He had managed to heal the human's injuries but Sam remained as he was, lying unmoving on the table.

"Sam?" Cas asked and approached the young man.

The youngest Winchester didn't even look at him.

"Samuel?" Castiel tried again, using the human's full name.

This time the young man did react. He turned his head and glanced at the angel though he wasn't so much as looking at Castiel as through him.

"I don't understand what is wrong," the angel said as though Sam would tell him, "Your wounds are healed."

Questions bubbled up inside the angel: Who had done this? Why? Was it Crowley? How had Sam's attacker entered the bunker? Why was the young man now acting in such a strange manner?

Castiel tried to think of a reason for Sam's behaviour but unfortunately he could come to no conclusions. Not even Metatron's millennia of knowledge gleaned from books and movies could help.

Perhaps he needs rest, Castiel thought.

The angel reached out, "I am going to help you sit up."

Sam didn't protest as Cas lifted his shoulders, his torso rising from the table.

For a moment the angel thought the young man would fall back if he let go but when he did, Sam remained sitting, slumped forwards slightly.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" Castiel tried again but the human did not respond.

Sighing, the angel took the young man's wrist. He was surprised when Sam followed him, standing up from the table when he moved back a few steps.

Castiel was glad that Sam was able to follow him at least; he knew he would not be able to carry the tall human by himself. He led Sam down the hallway slowly, continuing to talk to him and try to reach him.

As they approached Dean's room, Sam stopped, his eyes going wide and his face paling.

"No," he whispered, his voice a mere croak.

Castiel peered worriedly at the young man, "Sam? What is the matter?"

"No," Sam muttered again, "Dean… Please."

Castiel frowned. He carefully released Sam and walked forward, peeking into Dean's bedroom.

The sheets were slightly rumpled and stained faintly red.

This must be were Sam laid his brother, Castiel realized.

But where was Dean?

Had whomever or whatever attacked Sam taken Dean's body?

Turning back to the young man, Castiel saw that Sam was crouched against the wall, eyes wide and fearful.

"Sam," the angel said as he approached the young man, "Who hurt you? Who took Dean's body?"

The hunter looked up at the angel with wide eyes and said one word:

"Dean."

W

Castiel pulled the blanket up to Sam's chin, somewhat awkwardly, and then dropped his hands to his sides.

It was clear that the young man had been deeply disturbed- traumatized- by the attack but the angel wanted- needed- to know what had happened.

Sam hadn't spoken again after pronouncing his brother's name and that had only confused the angel more.

Castiel knew that he had all he needed to figure out the mystery but something was escaping his grasp- the final piece of the puzzle.

The angel looked down at his friend, the human's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady, he was asleep.

Glancing around the room, Castiel walked to the small desk and sat down in the chair before it, watching over his friend.

SPN

Crowley shed the cloak of invisibility as he came into step with Dean, walking down the road at a leisurely pace.

The young man did not react to his presence other than to glance at the King of Hell from the corner of his eye.

"So," Crowley started, "Back there… what was that?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, "What? With Sam?"

Crowley nodded, "You carved up Moose pretty good, Squirrel."

Dean smirked and his eyes flashed inky black, "Yeah, well, after everything he said this year, he had it coming."

Crowley's eyebrows rose, "And you don't feel bad. At all? I've known you for a long time and I know you'd rather rot in Hell forever before you'd hurt one hair on your brother's head."

This was not right, not right at all. Cain was a demon, sure, but he had managed to fight his base urges and refrain from killing. He was a beekeeper for Pete's sake!

But Dean… he had taken one look at his younger brother and decided to slice him up.

Dean shrugged, "Why should I? Sam said he didn't need me. He made it clear that he wasn't going to try and bring me back from the dead, so why should I care about him since he obviously doesn't care about me?"

Crowley didn't say anything for a long time. No cars passed them on the road and the King was grateful for that. He, of course, looked impeccable but Dean on the other hand had blood spattering the front of his shirt, his face, even dried into his hair. His hands were red with it and, of course, he still had that whisky bottle.

"Where are you going?" Crowley finally asked.

"Hell," Dean answered as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Crowley startled and stepped in front of Dean, placing one hand on the man's chest to prevent him from continuing.

"No, you're not."

Dean grabbed Crowley's wrist and bent it back, away from his chest, causing the demon to grimace in pain.

"Yes, I am."

Crowley grabbed his arm from Dean's hold and glowered at him, "Why? What's wrong with being Topside?"

Dean smiled, "You're only still King because I killed Abaddon. You didn't do jack shit. I did the deed. I destroyed her. I should be down there, soaking up the praise for getting rid of the bitch."

Crowley glanced at the ground as Dean pointed to it, emphasizing his point.

"What do you want? A party? A Knighthood?" the King asked.

Dean though, kept smiling.

"Close," he said, "But no cigar."

Crowley frowned for a moment but then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

"I'm King!" he snarled, "Me!"

"And apparently a shitty one," Dean commented, "Why aren't you celebrating your victory with your subjects? From what Sammy's told me of history, people don't like an absent king. They get ideas, start revolutions, commit regicide."

"Don't you even think about it," Crowley warned but Dean just laughed.

"You think I'm scared of you?"

Crowley opened his mouth but the Winchester had vanished, leaving him standing by the side of the road.

What have you done? The King of Hell thought to himself and disappeared, kicking himself for his own stupidity.

SPN

Cas looked up when he heard movement coming from Sam's bed. The young man was awake, his eyes open but no clearer than before.

"Sam," the angel said and stepped forward.

The young man was very pale and had dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked rather ill.

"Cas?" Sam whispered.

"It is me," the angel answered and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder comfortingly.

The young man said no more and closed his eyes once again.

The angel sighed and turned back to his seat.

W

Castiel stepped carefully down the hallway, bowl of tomato soup balanced between his hands.

During his time as a human, Cas had become skilled in making food and he was proud of his ability to use a can-opener and stove without injuring himself.

Sam was awake again and Castiel knew he was probably hungry. He hoped he could get the young man to eat something. Unlike angels, humans could not go for very long without food and water.

Castiel looked into the bedroom as he arrived and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Sam's eyes were still open.

"I've made you soup," he announced.

Sam didn't react.

Castiel set the bowl down on the desk and approached the bed.

"Sam, you must eat something," he told his friend.

The young man didn't even look up at him.

Castiel frowned. He had no clue how to help the young man.

If Dean were here he would know, Cas thought.

He knew the young man needed help but without his Grace, Cas was almost useless.

Sighing, the angel wondered if one of his brothers or sisters could help.

Kneeling where he was, at the edge of Sam's bed, Castiel bowed his head, clasped his hands and prayed.

W

Castiel paced outside of Sam's room. Waiting and waiting.

No one was going to answer him.

Rubbing a hand over his face, the angel stepped into the bedroom.

Sam's eyes were open and the angel decided to try and get the young man to eat. Castiel helped the young man sit up, Sam slumping forward, shoulders hunched.

Lifting the now cool soup bowl from the desk and returning to the young man's side, Cas went to Sam's bed and sat down.

The angel stirred the soup for a moment, breaking the thin skin that had formed on the top.

"You need to eat," Cas said and dipped the spoon into the soup.

Surprisingly, Sam accepted the spoonful of lukewarm soup.

Castiel smiled; perhaps Sam was recovering after all.

The young man ate all of the soup and afterwards his face regained some colour, his eyes were a little clearer.

The angel set the empty bowl aside and peered at the young man.

"Sam, I need to know who hurt you," Cas said softly, "Who took Dean's body."

The hunter looked at Cas and the angel saw fear in the young man's eyes.

"Dean."

Castiel frowned. Maybe Sam was not getting better.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath.

"It was Dean."

"What do you mean, Sam?" Castiel asked, "Was it a shapshifter?"

Perhaps Sam's attacker only looked like Dean and in the young man's aggrieved state had believed it was his sibling.

Because what Sam was suggesting was ludicrous. Dean would never hurt Sam like that. Ever. He would rather die than to harm his brother.

"It was… Dean," Sam whispered and shivered, "He… He… cut me…"

"Dean is dead," Castiel reminded the young man gently, "Metatron told me so himself."

Sam shook his head, fresh tears forming in his eyes.

"He… he was smiling… he was alive… he was there!"

Castiel frowned and laid a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder.

"He… he hurt me…" Sam continued, his voice a whimper, "Black eyes…"

Castiel started, causing Sam to flinch.

"Black eyes? A demon?"

Sam nodded and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"He… didn't stop… Please… Stop…" Sam said, his voice barely audible, "Please… Dean… No… Please…"

Realizing that Sam was quickly becoming incoherent again, Castiel lowered the young man down onto the bed.

"Sleep," he instructed and the young man obediently closed his eyes.

"Dean…" Sam muttered once before falling into unconsciousness.

Castiel stood and shook his head to clear it a bit.

Dean had attacked Sam. Somehow. Was he a demon as his brother suggested? But how?

Castiel needed answers but Sam wasn't able to give them. At least not yet.

He looked down at the young man and his heart broke. He couldn't imagine what Sam had been through; the joy of seeing his brother alive again and then the terror at realizing that Dean wasn't as he once was.

If Dean truly was a demon, Castiel had to find him, find a way help him.

Castiel thought to the trials, of Sam's attempt at turning Crowley human. The young man could not go through that again, Cas wouldn't allow it. No, there had to be another way and he would find it.

He would ask every angel he knew. He would even question Metatron. Surely if there was another way to return a demon back to a human, the Scribe of God would know.

Squaring his shoulders, Castiel prepared himself to pray. He needed to get back into Heaven.

Before closing his eyes though, he saw Sam's sleeping form and his shoulders drooped.

He could not abandon the young man, not in such a state, even if it was only for a little while.

Deciding that the Sam took priority over Dean. Castiel grabbed the empty soup bowl and walked slowly towards the bunker's kitchen.

He would nurse Sam back to health and together they would find Dean and save him. Castiel knew that Sam would demand to help anyway.

But for now, he would take care of the traumatized young man until the time when Dean was fit to do so himself.


End file.
